


Misery Never Goes Out of Style

by devin1039



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Frikey, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly jsut a Sad Time, The Black Parade, frank and g used to date, not a whole lot of comfort tbh, tbp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devin1039/pseuds/devin1039
Summary: He would come to Mikey's bunk for comfort. There weren't any words spoken on those nights, just Mikey running his hands over the others back slowly, soft kisses falling on his hair. The tandem of their breaths.





	

Mikey was doing that thing again. That thing where he would just kind of zone out, looking far away and stiff. Frank didn't really get why Mikey got like this. They were all sitting in their dressing room before a show. Everyone else was warming up, but Mikey was just... Sitting there with his bass in his hands, eyes out of focus. Frank had seen this happening for a couple of weeks now, and he was getting kind of worried. Something really seemed to be bothering him. 

“Can you help me with my tie, Frank?” Gerard asked, and Frank's head shot up, as he realized he had been just kind of staring at the younger Way. He flashed Gerard a smile and nodded, making his way to Gerard and doing his tie for him, just like any other performance. Gerard got far away sometimes too, but his was different. With Gerard, it was obvious what was up. He was usually just daydreaming, or lost in some fantasy. But Mikey seemed to be thinking really hard about something very important. And Frank was always a nosy little shit. 

“We're on in twenty.” Ray said cheerfully, tuning his guitar and glancing up at Frank and Gerard before furrowing his eyebrows. “Where did Mikey go?” He asked a little softer, looking around the room before at Gerard. That was a habit both Frank and Ray had. Whenever one Way was missing, they for some reason figured the other would know where they had gone. 

“I dunno. Maybe he needed to piss. Thanks, Frank.” Gerard said with a shrug before turning back to do his stage makeup. Frank just kind of nodded absently, looking to Ray for a moment. 

“I'll be right back.” He said quietly, voice hesitant, before he slipped out of the room. This wasn't like Mikey at all. Mikey was always dependable. Frank pushed open the bathroom door when he found it at the end of a hallway. What he saw made his heart jump to his throat, and his stomach clench uncomfortably. Mikey looked to his bandmate with shock and fear on his face, stepping in front of the sink. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Frank demanded, eyes wide and face pale. Mikey wiped his nose and sniffed hard, shaking his head and looking down. 

“Don't worry about it.” Mikey said simply, voice monotone and hair falling in front of his face. Frank let out a startled laugh and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“No. No, absolutely fucking not. I'm going to worry about this.” Frank said, starting to feel the fire of anger in his chest. He took a step forward and grabbed Mikey by the shirt, looking at him with a mixture of sadness and rage on his face. “This isn't you. Weed is one thing, dude. I like getting stoned too, but... This is fucking dangerous, okay?” He said, voice just a shade hysterical. Mikey looked down at Frank's hand, pupils dilated and face blank. 

“I know what I'm doing.” Mikey said simply, in that fucking enraging tone of his. The one where anything he said seemed condescending and obvious. Frank brought his hand back and smacked his friend across the face before tangling both hands in his hair. 

“No you don't! No you fucking don't, Mikey!” Frank yelled, eyebrows high and knit together, eyes welling up with tears despite his best efforts to keep them at bay. Mikey touched his face in shock, although his expression really didn't convey it. “If you knew what you were doing, you would stop!” Frank cried out, tugging hard at Mikey's hair, and... Oh. Mikey let out a groan, eyes fluttering. Frank didn't... He didn't want this like this. He wanted it. But not like this. He pulled away from Mikey quickly, shaking his head and wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. 

“Frankie, I'm sorry, okay?” Mikey said in a soft voice, hesitating before taking a step closer to Frank, who just shook his head once again. 

“I already... I already had to deal with your brother doing this, Mikes. I was... I was already in this.” Frank said sadly. And it was true. When the band first got together, and up until Gerard got sober, they had been dating. But Frank couldn't really handle Gerard always being fucked up, sloppy, and unpredictable. He had loved him. He had. And Gerard had gotten better in hopes of winning Frank back, but Frank had told himself he wouldn't let himself back into this situation again. And now here was Mikey. 

Here was Mikey, who comforted Frank when he went in the next room to cry because Gerard had come back to the bus barely able to speak, lip busted, vomit on his shirt. Mikey had been there. Mikey knew how bad this was. He had been Frank's best friend for so long. And even though they never talked about it, and nothing had really happened, they both remembered the nights where Frank couldn't stand sleeping alone after a fight with Gerard. So he would come to Mikey's bunk for comfort. There weren't any words spoken on those nights, just Mikey running his hands over the others back slowly, soft kisses falling on his hair. The tandem of their breaths. 

“I'm really sorry.” Mikey whispered, looking broken and sincere. Frank couldn't make the tears stop, and he was so fucking angry at Mikey for making him cry. They had a show to do. But the look that Mikey gave him said a lot of things. It told him that he remembered those nights too, and he knew how bad this hurt, and he didn't know how to make it stop. And he was so, so, so, sorry. “I... I was at that party with Pete a few months ago.” He said softly. Frank stared blankly, vision blurry. 

“I was at that party, and you know, that... That wasn't the first time. But it was the first time since... Since I realized something I didn't want to. It took it away for a while.” Mikey spoke, hands shaking and voice strained. “It didn't exactly... Take it away. But it made it not hurt. It wasn't crushing me.” He added quietly, reaching for Frank's hand, which Frank kept limp and still. “I'm so sorry. I never wanted to do this to you.” He murmured, tilting Frank's chin up. 

“Stop putting the fucking moves on me. Do you think I'm just a goddamn doormat for hire, huh? The both of you?” Frank asked with venom in his voice. “I love you, Mikey Way. I do. And if you loved me in any sort of way? You wouldn't have done this. You wouldn't be telling me sorry while you're fucking stoned. There aren't any excuses for this.” Frank took his hand back and glared at Mikey, but he figured the effect was probably a little bit ruined by the tears streaming down his face. “I'm not a sobriety coach. I'm not f-fucking... I can't do this, Mikey!” Frank sobbed, covering his face. 

“Okay, okay. Shh. It's okay. You're gonna be okay.” Mikey murmured, hesitantly reaching forward again to take Frank into his arms, running his fingers through the guitarist's hair. Frank sniffled and whined, clutching the fabric of the others shirt in his shaking hands. “It was stupid. It was really stupid. And I won't anymore. I promise you that. I keep my word, don't I?” He said softly. And Frank knew that Mikey did, in fact, keep his word. But this was different, wasn't it? “Look.” Mikey disengaged himself from Frank for a moment and took a small bag out of his pocket that held what this whole disaster was centered around. Mikey dumped it into the sink with a set jaw and turned on the tap, watching everything swirl down the sink before dropping the bag into the trash. He exhaled a slow breath and looked back to Frank with obvious pain on his face, but under it, hope. And Frank had hope on his face, too. But he was that special type of nervous, where you can feel it like butterflies swarming in your chest.


End file.
